


How Do We Sleep When Our Beds Are Burning?

by laudatenium



Series: I'm Burnin' (For You) [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wildfire, Artist Steve, Firefighter Steve, He's on the mend, Hurt Tony, Light Angst, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:32:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudatenium/pseuds/laudatenium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Tony returned home with third-degree burns and a fire captain for a boyfriend, be thought everything would be perfect.</p><p>Wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Do We Sleep When Our Beds Are Burning?

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Beds Are Burning” by the Midnight Oil.
> 
> Since several people asked about a sequel, here it is.
> 
> It can probably be read alone, but the entre premise is set up in the previous story.

People often said dramatic events could vastly change a person’s life.  For most of his, Tony had been inclined to disagree.  His parents’ death, while his life was different, his personal outlook hadn’t changed.  Nor had 9/11, or Obie’s licit activities coming to light.  Sure, things had changed, but Tony hadn’t really changed.  The only thing that had really affected him before was the steady realization that his life didn’t mean much.

 

But Tony Stark’s life had been full of change after the wildfire.

 

The burns he had received were most easily observed of them.  The inferno had formed a starburst sort of pattern in the center of his chest, with a nearly uniform circle of the worst third-degree burns in the center, right over his sternum.

 

Tony’s burns were pretty bad, but he’d managed to avoid the getting infected, so the dangers of contracting blood poisoning or something like it were gone.  He was forming some heavy keliods, mottled white burn tissue, but hopefully with Bruce’s help in developing a new treatment using 3-D printed skin, he would have no lasting adverse effects.

 

His friends had been another source of change.  Rhodey’s mother hen tendencies had emerged, and despite having to head back to base as soon as he was sure Tony was on the path to recovery, he would call twice a day to make sure that Tony was taking care of his wound dressings (he was) and that Tony was making sure to get proper rest and an adequate amount of rest (he was).  Despite what the cadets might think, Rhodey’s angry checking up on people was the way he showed affection, so Tony was assured of his love.  But never before had Rhodey been quite so intense, and Tony could only compare it to Rhodey’s treatment of Pepper and himself after emerging from the North Tower with nothing worse than a shattered kneecap betwixt them.  Rhodey had seen people killed, had been the source of it, and Tony was sure Rhodey was dealing with mortality.

 

Pepper had been different in how indulgent she was.  Usually she dealt with Tony’s eccentricities with a tight lipped smile, but she had stayed in Bakersfield throughout his entre hospitalization, letting him have a toolbox and some scrap to fuss with.  After two weeks, Tony had been discharged, and Pepper had allowed him to return to the mountain house to recover, helped him get settled, and then had put on her tallest heels to deal with the Board and PR.

 

The news that he had been hospitalized following an injury sustained in an explosion caused by a wildfire had not been leaked, thankfully, but after notifying the Board it had been agreed upon that it would be better for Tony to have time to sufficiently heal before announcing the news.  They were still debating on whether 60 Minutes or the morning shows were better.  Tony wanted 60 Minutes, because they would send a team and he wouldn’t need to leave the house or his new boyfriend behind.

 

Steve had been the biggest change in Tony’s life.  One of the worries he’d had were that Steve would have gone back to his wildfirefighting crew, and would call Tony in six months when he had a chance to recover from plastic surgery.

 

But every day, without fail, when the fires were under control and he wasn’t needed, Steve drove two or three hours one way (or hitched a ride in a helicopter with his friend Sam), and headed to Tony’s hospital room.  They talked about everything with the same easy intimacy that had so quickly developed between them.  Steve would sneak the forbidden fast food, they would talk for _hours_ and maybe kiss a little, until they both fell asleep to the sound of the buzz of machinery, Tony in his hospital bed and Steve in the hard armchair at his bedside.  Steve would stay until he woke up, and then would drive back to the Forest, until he was done for the day, and would head back to the hospital.  A part of Tony had worried that Steve hadn’t slept in a real bed since they met, but he looked forward to his boyfriend’s company (and yes, Steve was officially his _boyfriend_ , he felt as giddy as a sixteen-year-old to get to say it) to protest too much.

 

When the best plastic surgeon in reconstructing burned skin on the western seaboard had been flown in from Seattle, Steve had stood disapprovingly in the corner glaring the entire time the elderly man had examined the wound, talking about reconstructing the skin and whatnot.  After Dr. Greer had left, Steve had told him very sweetly that, while it was Tony’s decision to do what he wanted with his own body, the burns were not something to be ashamed of.

 

Steve had shocked him the most by asking the doctor for all the literature they had on tending to people with severe burns.  When Tony had asked why Steve wanted it, he had just given Tony an exasperated look and had retorted with “Who else is going to take care of you?”

 

Tony knew he should probably be wary of how fast they were moving, but nothing felt rushed with Steve.  Tony felt completely calm with him, and it was only in Steve’s absence did doubts bother to rear their ugly heads.  And all it took was Steve’s smile to make them melt away again.

 

Pepper approved of Steve’s apparent air of maturity and stability, and had told Tony that she was happy that he had finally found someone who had “staying power”.  Bruce approved of Steve only so much as he was a good person, but that was all that really mattered in Bruce’s book.  Rhodey’s approval was more grudging, but seeing as the only person Tony had dated before that had gotten Rhodey’s approval was Pepper, it was a good sign.  Rhodey obviously approved of Steve’s profession, and loved chatting with him about his crew, as it didn’t sound too different from military operations.  But the thing they seemed to love the most about Steve was how he was taking care of Tony.

 

Every day, Steve, if he wasn’t firefighting, would feed Tony a cocktail of pills and change the bandages on his chest every four hours.  If Tony went down to the workshop, Steve would camp out on one of the couches, sketching idly while Tony chattered.  Otherwise they sat curled together on the couch, watching TV, movies, Steve drawing and Tony messing with designs on his tablet, talking about anything and everything.

 

A couple of times, Steve had taken Tony for short excursions in the form of short hikes.  Steve, because of his employment with the National Forest, had an ID card and a pickup truck with “SEQUOIA NATIONAL FOREST: FIRE PREVENTION AND CONTROL: CREW 91” emblazoned on the side, so he could drive Tony through the forest on paths meant for pedestrians, and park a short distance from the thing he wanted Tony to see.  Tony had remarked about Steve taking advantage of his position the first time they had done it, but Steve had just driven them to a rocky ridge overlooking a river valley, and had revealed a picnic basket.  It was so corny, but Tony understood why it was such a cliché; the sunset had been breathtaking.

 

And every night, Steve would curl around Tony in bed, gently stroking over the fresh bandages over his chest, and every night Tony would guide Steve’s had lower, and rock his hips back to feel him.  They were both always hard, yet Steve obviously had willpower made of fucking _steel_.  He would always hiss, and then gasp the same thing.

 

_“Not yet.  You’re hurt, and I want us to this right.”_

It had been _six weeks_ since the fire, six weeks since Tony had gotten the *cough* _hottest_ man he had ever seen.  He had understood why Steve didn’t want to try anything in the hospital (just kissing him had made the heart monitor go crazy enough for the nurses to come running, and after that they kept an annoyingly close watch on the two of them), but Tony’d been out for a month, and Steve had been living with him the entire time.  In none of Tony’s previous relationships had they made it to the six week mark without fucking.  Not that Steve was like anyone else Tony had ever dated (and how many people had Tony actually dated?  Pepper, that's it), but Steve was _right there_ , and the suspense was killing him.

 

So now Tony was reduced to grinding against Steve’s erection until he forced his boyfriend out of his bed.  Tony would lie there in the dark, listening as Steve would get into the shower.  At first, Steve would blast himself with cold water and would be back in bed in less than five minutes.  But as time went on, the showers got longer, and Tony was left try and keep up as he listened to Steve jerking off, moaning _“Tony”_ as he came.

 

Every.  Single.  Night.

 

So yeah, forgive him for being more than a little frustrated.  It wasn’t so much _hard_ to deal with because Steve wasn’t ready, which Tony could have understood.  Say what you will about his reputation, but Tony did believe that sex should be fully consensual to be any fun.  Especially with someone he cared about.   But from every look and action he had been giving him, Steve did want him; maybe more than Tony wanted Steve.  The sexual tension was so thick between them that _Bruce_ had told him to do something about it.

 

But other than the lack of sex and constant dull sting of healing burns, life was just about as wonderful as it could get.

 

 

 

It was evening, and Tony had decided to abandon the workshop in favor of the living room.  He had wanted to wait up for Steve so they could have dinner together, but Steve had called, sounding exhausted, and told him to eat without him.  So, half a box of stovetop rice later, Tony was left to feeling like an army wife, fussing with his tablet while he waited for JARVIS to tell him Steve was outside.

 

The panoramic windows were one of Tony’s favorite things about the house.  His house in Malibu looked over the ocean, which made Tony feel empty and brittle now.  The penthouse in Stark Tower looked over Manhattan, and it used to bring a sense of power, but now it only made him feel alone.  The view of the forest from the mountain house made him feel small in the face of the forest and the mountains.  Insignificant.  Spending so much time at the top, it made him feel rounded.

 

Tony had developed a nervous habit of toying with Steve’s necklace while waiting for the man to come home.  Tony had tried to give the pendant which invoked the patron saint of firefighters, that had belonged to Steve’s father, and after the fire Tony had tried to give it back, but Steve had just looked at him with the big pleading blue eyes.  _“Wear it for me?”_   And that’s how Tony found himself feeling like a girl from the fifties, whose beau had asked her to wear their class ring.  Tony never took it off.

 

In the short time he had been living there, Steve had made himself at home.  Not obnoxiously so, like a house guest overstaying their welcome, but his preferred yogurt was in the fridge, a previously empty dresser was starting to be filled with freshly laundered clothes that had come from a suitcase, his toothbrush was on the sink, and his shampoo was in the shower.  Little bits of Steve that made Tony’s heart lurch whenever he saw them.  A new mug here, an unfamiliar sock there, made it so much more _real_.

 

Probably the biggest change had been the influx of art supplies.  Different brands of food than what he was used to and a hoodie that was far too large for Tony to have bought it were things that were new, but not unrecognizable.  The battered boxes filled with portfolios, fancy markers, tubes of paint, and specialty papers were completely foreign to him, but were exciting in the learning process that was Steve.

 

Steve had several sketchbooks spread out over the coffee table right now, pencils and charcoal and pastels, a strange rolled paper tube smudged on the ends with graphite, a can of fixer resting on the floor.

 

Steve had occasionally brought his art things to the hospital to show Tony, and it left Tony wondering if they hadn’t met like they did, Pepper might have dragged him to some gallery opening and would have ended up buying everything as he drooled over the artist.

 

Steve wasn’t a fantasy artist.  He didn’t draw random models in semi-sultry poses, or random still-lives of fruit and flowers.

 

What Steve drew were memories.  Burning towers, burning fields.  Morning smog over Brooklyn, morning mist over the mountains.   A woman with the frailest face, but a pillar of strength, washing and peeling potatoes.  Before and after pictures of a man, young and ruggedly handsome, then unshaven and haunted with a stub for a left arm.  A couple, a man with a bow and arrows and a flame-haired woman in black, sitting in the crook of a tree.  Sam in his flight suit, grinning a gap-toothed grin.  A man with a scowl and an eye patch, always with a speech bubble reading “Motherfuckers” issuing from his mouth.  Pepper had even made it in, shoulders hunched as she poured over her laptop in the hospital, strands of hair falling from her bun.

 

Tony had yet to find even a sketch of himself.  Tony had offered to pose for him (nude anatomy practice, of course), but Steve had stared at him for ten seconds before laughing so hard he tipped his chair over.  It was vaguely insulting, but Steve did have something that Tony hadn’t seen yet.

 

This was what Tony had christened Steve’s “Secret Sketchbook”, because, despite it being the one he used the most, he never let Tony see what was in it.  Whenever Tony tried, Steve would hold it close to his chest, or over his head.  He usually stored it on the highest bookshelf, with a casual disregard for his height that made Tony so mad.  But in his rush to get up north this morning, Steve had left it on the coffee table.

 

Tony knew he shouldn’t.  It violated a bunch of early relationship protocols and stuff.  It would “endanger the fragile trust just beginning to form.”  But Steve let him see everything else he made, and, well, you weren’t supposed to keep secrets in a serious relationship, right?

 

He scrambled over and picked the book up like it was rigged to explode.  Once he acknowledged the fact that Steve’s methods of protecting secrets might be different from his own, Tony flipped open the cover and began to peruse the drawings.

 

It was filled entirely with himself.  Tony’s face crinkling into the genuine smile that few ever saw.  Scowling at a set of blueprints while hunched over the kitchen table.  A perfect profile, with his hair a mess in grease-stained sweats as he fiddled with a bunch of wires.  The expanse of the burns while in the midst of changing the dressings.  Curled in a ball on the couch with a sleepy smirk and a coffee cup.  Face twisted in pain as the vague outline of Bruce fussed over his chest dressings in the hospital.  Lying in bed with tangled sheets and a look of peaceful slumber on his face.  His eyes in the morning sun, hazy yet whiskey bright.  Hands belonging to two people gliding along his abs.  Staring morosely forward in the shotgun seat of a truck.  Lying in bed again, legs forming a tent with the sheets over his groin, eyes half-closed yet intensely focused as a hand worked himself.

 

Even the drawings that weren’t of himself were of him.  The gutted workings of one of his most recent projects.  A half-drained mug on a pile of papers.  Bed sheets stained with cum.

 

He was roused from his snooping by JARVIS.  _“Sir, Captain Rogers has just pulled into the driveway.”_

 

Tony dropped Steve’s drawings and reclaimed his tablet.  The front door creaked open, and Steve’s heavy footsteps sounded in the foyer.  “Tony?”

 

“In here.”  Tony turned to catch sight of his boyfriend.

 

Steve was still wearing his uniform, but the slump of his shoulders told Tony that Steve wasn’t planning on using it to fulfill Tony’s fantasies tonight.  He was covered in soot and sweat, and he hadn’t showered.  Tony hadn’t seen him like this since he had first barged into Tony workshop six weeks ago.

 

But the look on Steve’s face made any comment he might have made die in this throat.  Steve had a special ability to look remarkably like a kicked puppy when he wanted to.  But there was some agony in his eyes, and instead of the playful pouting Tony often got, a haunted look was in its place.

 

“Steve, what’s wrong?  What happened?” Tony asked as Steve shuffled over and _crawled_ into Tony’s waiting arms.  Tony smoothed and kissed his hair, and held Steve close.  He made no comment about the now-ruined couch.  “What’s wrong?  Tell me.”

 

When Steve spoke, he sounded like he was choking back tears.

 

“Two hikers. . . . Tony, they were warned.  The warnings are clearly posted.  Have been for days now.”

 

“Do you have any idea about why they hadn’t heard the warnings?”  In the short time they had been together, Tony had found, just like himself, the best way to help Steve with a problem was to simply help him work through his own mind.  Despite their obvious differences, the basis of many of their baseline characteristics were the same.  Their easy compatibility was both terrifying and filled with promise.

 

Steve pulled back, rubbing the back of his sleeve across his face, staining the skin of his cheekbones black.  “Tony, do you know what stormchasers are?”

 

 “Yeah.”

 

Frustration was hardening the look in Steve’s eyes.  “The hikers knew the fire was there.  Like stormchasers, they _purposely_ put themselves in danger just to get it on video.”

 

“Okay, not to be rude, but your friends have made it quite clear to me that you’re a pretty big adrenaline junkie.  How is this different?”

 

 Steve grunted, and chucked one of the couch cushions across the room.  “I am, but I don’t do anything like _that_.  Yes, my job is very dangerous, and yes, I may go skydiving and bungee jumping more than most people, but I would _never_ do something like that.”

 

“But-“

 

“I don’t purposely put my life in very real danger for the laughs.”  He met Tony’s eyes.  “I would never do that to someone I care about.”

 

Tony gulped at the raw emotion in Steve’s voice.

 

“Steve-“

 

“They looked like blackened chicken when we found them.”

 

Steve burrowed his face into Tony’s shoulder, and murmured softly, the bass rippling in his bones:

 

“It made me remember last month, and I was just thinking how close that could have been to being you . . . .”  Tony felt himself shaking as he ran his fingers through Steve’s baby-soft hair.

 

“It’s thanks to you I even survived.  I would have been dead in a ditch, and the news would be doing tribute specials that ignored my issues in the face of a ‘grave tragedy’.”

 

It was a gamble, with Steve in this state, but a watery chuckle reverberated across Tony’s skin.

 

“Okay, it’s just frustrating when people don’t do what common sense dictates for basic survival.”

 

“Yeah, but Steve, people don’t have common sense.”  Steve laughed brighter.  “Well, let’s get you showered and fed, then we can hit the sack.”  For more pointless grinding.

 

Steve breathed in a shaky breath.

 

“Please Tony, I just . . . need you.  Tonight.”

 

Tony was suddenly standing at attention.  He pressed an open mouthed kiss to Steve’s jaw.  “ _Finally._   I was worried that you think I’m ugly.”

 

Steve tensed and pulled back.  His look was one of intense determination and arousal.  “Why on _Earth_ would you think that, Tony?”

 

“I was joking to diffuse the tension!  You don’t always need to take everything I say-“ 

 

The rest was lost in a squeak as Steve picked Tony up like he weighed nothing and started attacking every exposed bit of skin with harsh kisses.  Tony had to wrap his legs around Steve’s waist and dig his fingers into the meat of his shoulders to prevent falling.

 

Steve shifted Tony up on his hips, mouthing along his jaw and erection jabbing Tony in the ass as he marched them to the bedroom.

 

“I – am – _going_ – to – prove – to – you – how – special – you – are – _Tony,_ ” Steve punctuated every word with a kiss, flicking on the bed room light.

 

“Special to whom?” Tony found himself gasping as Steve gently sat him down on the edge of the bed.

 

“The world,” Steve growled while undoing the zipper on his jeans.  “But I’m the only one who matters right now.”

 

And he swallowed Tony down.

 

Tony couldn’t hold back the shout he made at the feeling of Steve engulfing him, wet and _hot_ , sucking lightly at first, and then _hard_.  God had apparently graced Tony with a boyfriend without a gag reflex, which Steve immediately began demonstrating, allowing Tony to feel his throat muscles contract around him.

 

It was the image from the best wet dream, beautiful buff blond firefighter, still in uniform, protective coveralls tenting obviously, sucking wetly on his dick.  Steve didn’t break Tony’s gaze as he worked him with his tongue.  Tony couldn’t do anything besides sit there and take it.

 

As the pressure began to mount, Tony began whining and pulling at Steve’s jacket.  “Take – _hau_ – take this _off_ – _uh_ – stop – wanna – wanna feel you-“

 

Steve let go, never leaving Tony’s eyes as he stood slowly.  Tony sat there as Steve proceeded to give the most unskilled yet most erotic strip tease Tony had ever had the privilege of seeing.  Steve pulled of his coat and boots, unhooked the overalls and kicking them off.  Steve stood there, in nothing but a latter t-shirt, sweatsocks, and straining boxer briefs.

 

“Go on!”

 

Steve frowned, more affectionate than annoyed, and removed his shirt.  His skin was of the milky-pale Irish variety, washed throughout with crimson blush.  He had very little natural body hair, and what was there was pale blond and barely visible.  He shucked his socks off, and then moved to pull his underwear down.

 

Tony had never considered himself a size queen; the men he had slept with in the past were just usually on the bigger end of the scale.  Tony never felt the need to compensate, as some might think (not that he was small or just average or anything).  He was proud of the dick he had, and it didn’t look comically large like some porn stars.  Tony believed that size was behind skill.

 

But _Steve_ , oh _Steve,_ had to be one of the largest men Tony had ever _seen_ , let alone fucked.  He was huge and thick, veins standing out prominently against the angry red skin.  But it balanced well with Steve’s proportions as it curved smoothly toward his naval, the uncut head dripping with pre-ejaculate.

 

There was distant laughter, probably from the way his mouth was gaping, but Tony was too turned on to care.

 

“Now do I get to see all of _you_?”

 

Tony swallowed and tried to collect himself as Steve’s hands moved to remove the baggy sweatshirt, and pull his jeans and boxers off.  Tony thought that would be it, but then Steve laid him on his back, and his fingers moved to the bandages.

 

A soft kiss to the pendant on the golden chain around his neck, before huge calloused hands gently unwrapped the dressings on Tony’s chest.

 

The burns at the center of his chest were healing, but still very tender.  Steve’s fingers were lighter than air, barely even touching as he traced the blast pattern.  He bent to dryly kiss the blistered skin, hot breath ghosting over everything, setting the undamaged nerve endings with a different form of fire.

 

“You’re beautiful – _so gorgeous_ ,” Steve gasped between tender kisses to the burns.  “I’m going to draw you.  Every day.  I already do.”

 

“Yeah,” Tony rasped.  “I saw.”

 

Steve looked up and frowned, adorable rift forming between his eyebrows.  “You peaked.  I said no peaking.”  He began to work Tony’s nipple with his tongue.

 

“ _Yea-a-a-y-ah, yes_ , I’m naughty, wanna punish me?”

 

Steve’s mouth left his nipple, and Tony whined until Steve moved up so he was hovering right over Tony, kneeling between his spread thighs as he groped for the bedside drawer.  “Is that a kink of yours?”  His tone was light, but Steve wouldn’t meet his eyes.  Tony let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in.

 

“Not really.  Just gauging to see if it was one of yours.  The bottle’s probably at the back.”

 

“Not into pain or humiliation stuff . . . . My tastes are pretty vanilla to what you’re probably used to.  Ah!”  He came out with the bottle of lube and a foil square.

 

“What you read in the gossip rags is not the true scope of my sex life.  It’s mostly lies, and what’s true is greatly exaggerated.  Right now they’re saying I’m on a private island with a dozen beach volleyball players, when I’m actually holed up in the mountains about to be fucked by a sexy fireman.  Come _on_ , I’m dying here.”

 

Steve was blushing from Tony’s description, but he just continued to run the lube through his fingers.  “It’s cold,” he said simply.

 

And he was warming it up.  What had Tony ever done in life to deserve this man?  No one he’d ever been with had ever cared, nor himself.  He shouldn’t be this choked up from his boyfriend methodically running lube through his fingers, but something about it hit home.

 

“Tony?”  Steve looked concerned.  “Are you okay?  I can stop.”

 

“No,” he sobbed as Steve pulled Tony’s face into his shoulder.  “Just, it’s never _meant_ anything before.”

 

Steve stroked his hair with his non-slick hand.  “I shouldn’t like how casual your experience is, but that makes me feel special that this means something to you.”

 

“You _do_ mean something, _a lot_ of something; now get your fingers in me, Captain.  That’s an order.”

 

They both laughed as the tension dissolved, which devolved into a joint moan as Steve ran a gentle finger over the tight ring of muscle.

 

Steve was biting his lip as he eased a warm, slick finger in.  They were huge fingers, calloused from cutting brush and running line.  He moved slowly, allowing Tony to get used to the feeling, before twisting and curling the digit as Tony writhed.

 

 _“More,”_ Tony hissed, and Steve obliged, sliding in a second, wiggling and scissoring.

 

When Tony began trying to ride his fingers, Steve used more lube and added the third and forth together.

 

The jolt of lightning that meant Steve had found his prostate made Tony keen, and with a devilish grin Steve found it again, prodding incessantly.

 

“Can we – not –“ Tony groaned as Steve used his free had to grope for the condom wrapper.  “I’m clean – _unhum_ –“

 

Steve was blushing again, which might have looked really weird for another man with four fingers in another man’s ass, but Steve just made it endearing.  “I know.  I, um, might have looked.  The files were just sitting open, so I thought I would, ah, make sure.”

 

“Why, Captain Rogers, who would have thought you would be one to check whether or not it was safe to go bareback with a man lying in a hospital bed, _injured_ – “

 

The rest was lost as Tony’s head was thrown back, gasping at the feeling of Steve carefully sliding in. 

 

“Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly burned to the groin,” Steve hissed as he stayed still as he allowed Tony to adjust to the stretch.

 

“That would have been a tragedy,” Tony found his voice was faint.

 

“I know, groin burns take the longest to heal.”  Steve laughed as Tony weakly swatted at his shoulder.  “Can I move?”

 

Tony nodded, and Steve kept his gaze trained on his face to watch for any signs of discomfort as he began to slide deeper.

 

Tony was laid out flat on his back, arms raised to claw into Steve’s shoulder blades, right leg hooked around his hips to urge him deeper.  Steve was resting on his elbows, hands fisted in the sheets beneath Tony as he kept his weight off of his still-healing wounds.  Steve set a slow, steady pace that filled Tony completely on every stroke.  Steve kept their foreheads resting together, occasionally ducking down to place more kisses on Tony’s chest.  Tony wound a hand through the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, gripping tightly as their open mouths slid together.

 

He felt raw, exposed completely in both a sexual and non-sexual way.  The barest skim of their chests, necklace jingling as they moved.  Steve was breathing heavily in a way that told Tony he’d had a lot of practice keeping quiet, but every few moments when Tony would squeeze him, or dig into his skin particularly hard, Steve would let out a little whimper that didn’t go with the demigod image, but was all the more arousing for it.

 

Tony was pretty sure he could have come untouched, but because it was Steve, he worked a hand between their bodies, grip firm and solid as he stroked up Tony’s weeping cock.  They weren’t kissing anymore so much as sharing air, lips parted and millimeters from the other’s.

 

Steve’s pace picked up in earnest, slamming in harder as he tried successfully to hit Tony’s prostate every time.  Tony felt like a small animal, being shook incessantly as Steve tried his best to bury Tony in the creaking mattress.

 

“Come on, Tony,” Steve groaned.  “Wanna see you.”

 

And with that, the long-awaited orgasm hit, and Tony could see nothing, only aware of pleasure and relaxation and _Steve_.  He heard a distant groan and Steve began to shake, gasping _“Tony.”_

 

Things remained hazy for a while, and when the real world began to intrude again, Tony just closed his eyes and tried to ignore it.  Steve had still been vigilant of the burns in the throes of orgasm, and had fallen off to the side, lying slightly diagonal with an arm entrapping Tony as he caught his breath.

 

Tony was about to pull Steve in for a good, if sticky, post-coital cuddle and sleep, but Steve got up and headed to the bathroom.

 

The sound of the sink being run, and Tony felt his blood turn to ice.  He didn’t have much experience with relationships, but you didn’t leave someone in bed with your cum leaking from their ass if you cared about them.  It hurt, that even sweet, wonderful Steve wanted to wash Tony from his skin.

 

Before Tony could begin to cry, Steve came back to bed with several warm washcloths and the dressings for the chest wound.  He gently cleaned Tony of the mixture of sweat, seamen, and lube, sprinkling light kisses over the skin as he worked.  After he had sufficiently wiped him down, Tony lay there boneless as Steve quickly and efficiently redressed the burns.  When he finished, Steve dropped a kiss right in the center of the bandages.  Tony found his arms worked enough to pull Steve up to sleepily kiss his mouth, the flame of anxiety smothered.

 

Steve turned off the light and crawled in, spooning Tony from behind, like every night, except naked.  He gently brought his left hand around to run his fingers over the medallion, before moving to cup the area over the worst of the burns.  Tony threaded his fingers through Steve’s, and listened as his breathing steadily evened out.

 

“Steve?”

 

A low rumble told him he was listening.

 

“I, uh, I-“  The words died in this throat.

 

Steve’s right arm was under Tony, but he brought his hand up to turn Tony’s face just enough to see the soft light in his eyes, before kissing him, feather-light between the eyes.

 

“I love you, too.”

 

“Me, too.  I you, I mean – stop _laughing_ – you just fucked my brains out, I’m not coherent.”

 

Steve smothered his laughter.  “Sure, Tony.”

 

“We should try that again.  The mind-blowing sex thing.”  Tony felt something hard twitch next to his thigh.  “Not now, Christ, are you unsustainable?  Sleep now.  Tomorrow.”

 

“I’ll be here.”

 

They snuggled in for the night.


End file.
